Loved Like This
by LuteofLorien
Summary: Frodo and Legolas both return from the Quest irrevocably changed. They talk through the joys and sorrows of knowing that their closest friends would do anything to help them, and that even this will never restore them to how they were before. A story about love and letting go.
1. Chapter 1: Elvish Wordplay

_A/N So after reading Lamiel's awesome 'Of Cabbages and Kings', I'm still in a very happy obsession with parallels between Frodo and Legolas, inspired by her thought-provoking writing exploring the bond between Legolas and Sam. I have also shamelessly appropriated the technique of interweaving conversations to highlight thematic links from Lamiel's work. This was initially going to be a more introspective discussion about how Legolas and Frodo combat their desire to leave Middle Earth, with Legolas helping Frodo to accept the fact that he has to go and teaching him strategies to help him enjoy his last months in the Shire. I might still write something along those lines if there's interest? But anyway, then Sam turned up and told me in no uncertain terms that even when I summon Frodo to a secret council involving Legolas in my brain, he is staying with his master no matter what. And then Gimli charged in with his axe and asked what I was doing with his Elf, and it was all getting a bit hairy until I realised that this story really wanted to be about the parallels between two legendary friendships rather than just Frodo and Legolas as individuals. It explores the emotional minefield of relating to friends after going through a huge personality change, and is very, very angsty. Combines Frodo-having-to-leave-the-Shire angst and Legolas-sea-longing angst. Don't say I didn't warn you. No slash intended, though._

 _Many thanks to Ink Stained Quill for being my first beta, a wise and insightful critical reader, a fellow lover of grammar jokes and an all-round legend. Ink Stained, you're wonderful, hannon le._

 _ **Disclaimer: I will return the characters to Tolkien after subjecting them to some emotional turmoil. I promise.**_

 **Chapter 1: Elvish Wordplay**

 _The Shire, S.R. 6_ _th_ _September 1420_

Purplish juice ran in rivulets over callused hands, staining them in a glory of autumnal richness. Large fingers which concealed their own agility and gentleness worked methodically through the bush, skilfully detaching their treasure from its nest of thorns. His basket of blackberries almost overflowing in its abundance, Samwise Gamgee closed his eyes for a moment and enjoyed the feeling of the late afternoon sun caressing the back of his neck. He whistled a melody from a song about home, and comfort, and family, listening as it slotted itself in among the chirps and twitters of blackbirds and thrushes in the nearby trees. The Elves said that the whole of creation was one song sung by the Ainur, divided into many parts. Legolas had tried to explain it to him once, but he had found the whole thing rather confusing. But in this moment, as his casual whistling fell into a natural duet with the sounds of the Shire, he almost felt he understood.

He grinned to himself, picturing the crumble which Rosie would produce with the results of their afternoon's labour, sugary juices from the fruit bubbling up from under the golden topping, crowned with lashings of cream. And today, at last, the Shire had produced its _chef-d'oeuvre,_ a perfect moment which could bring Frodo some of the peace he deserved. In his years as Bag End's gardener, Sam had learned that nothing took Frodo's mind off his troubles like an afternoon fruit picking with friends. Surely, at last, this would be a shield against the shadows which still haunted Frodo. Surely this would be enough.

The smile died on his lips as he looked down the hedgerow to Frodo. His basket of blackberries hanging forgotten from his elbow, Frodo's eyes were distant, and his four-fingered right hand was fisted near his chest. If an uninitiated elven observer were present, they might have thought his posture the elven gesture of respect. But Sam knew better. He approached Frodo cautiously, employing the technique he dearly wished he hadn't got down to a practised art. He stood alongside his friend and slipped his hand underneath the empty clutch of Frodo's where it hovered near his neck, intertwining their fingers. This way the memory of now-absent cold metal would be dispelled by the living presence of a warm and responsive hand. He placed his other hand on Frodo's shoulder, gently enough so that he could shake him off easily if he felt threatened by it. Then, as Frodo began to shift slightly, he spoke in a low voice.

'Mr Frodo. Hedge Lane. The Shire. October 1420. We're picking blackberries. Your Sam's right here beside you. Come back to me, Mr Frodo.'

Sam knew very well where Frodo thought he was, and this was a litany that had become all too familiar to him. Details of place, date, and what they were doing, reassurance of his presence, call to come back. Sam was rewarded by a blink from Frodo, whose eyes then came into focus and filled with relief, and then sadness. He gave Sam's hand a quick squeeze before releasing it.

'I'm sorry, Sam. I was hoping it wouldn't happen today. Thank you.'

'So was I, Mr Frodo.'

Frodo found Sam's crestfallen expression almost unbearable and looked away, glimpsing the meagre haul of blackberries in his basket. He tried to rally himself, running his fingers through the crisp dry grass to remind himself that his hands were not covered in ash and blood. He forced a smile he didn't feel.

'Well, Sam, this won't do! I better get back to work, else Rosie will have my head for not bringing her a good enough supply for her crumble.'

He turned back to the bush, knowing that Sam could see through his flimsy veneer of jollity and hating himself for ruining his friend's afternoon.

Sam crouched beside him, gesturing to his own basket. 'Don't worry about that, Mr Frodo. I've got more than enough for the crumble here - and a few extra for the workers as well!'

He took Frodo's hand and deposited a handful of blackberries in it. Frodo relaxed a little as he ate them, and the burst of sharp juice drove away the lingering taste of the fumes of Mordor. Sam's lips were now stained a deep purple as he munched berries straight from the bush with some relish. He saw Frodo looking.

'I have to test the wares before giving them to Rosie! She'd never forgive me if I brought home bad blackberries.'

'And do they pass the test?'

'Aye. Though I'll have another, just to make sure.'

Frodo managed only a small smile at this, but it was a genuine one, more at the transparency of Sam's efforts to distract him than anything else. Sam began to reminisce as they continued their picking.

'Remember how we used to do this every year, Mr Frodo? It was always the highlight of your autumn, you used to say.'

'Aye, Sam. We did. And it was.'

Something about the sorrowful inflection of that past tense made Sam suddenly go cold inside.

 _The Shire, S.R. 28th November 1420_

Frodo woke in a panic. His first thought was that he had overslept his watch. His second was that he had been knocked out and captured. His third was that he had fainted halfway to the summit of Mount Doom. He sat bolt upright and reached for his sword, somehow believing that all three possibilities were happening simultaneously. The fingers of his right hand closed over not a hilt, but a handful of tangled bedsheets, and he noticed the gap where the third finger should be with a start. He froze in that position as he remembered where he was, when he was, and listened intently for the familiar patter of hurried footsteps approaching his door. When after about a minute they still did not come, he exhaled sharply and finally allowed himself to slump back down onto the blankets in relief. That meant that he had not been crying out in his sleep, and so he had not woken Sam. For that at least he was grateful. Sam had endured far too many sleepless nights because of him. As his world orientated itself in his mind he became even more grateful, contemplating the embarrassment of having his nightmares witnessed by the guest who was currently staying with them. Although whether that guest was actually inside Bag End at this moment was anyone's guess.

There was no indication of what had woken him and after a few minutes of disgruntled tossing and turning Frodo realised that he was now fully alert and had no hope of returning to sleep. The first whispers of dawn were beginning to lighten the night sky and Frodo felt, not for the first time, a sudden restlessness and need to walk. With practised stealth he dressed and crept silently into the hallway, pausing when he saw a folded note outside their guest's room. Curiosity got the better of him and it was only the strength of his desire to allow Sam his much-needed sleep that enabled him to stifle his laughter as he read it.

 _A note to my kind hosts. I desire to watch the sunrise in your beautiful countryside, so I have gone out for a short while. Master Samwise's praise of breakfast here is enough to guarantee my punctual return. My thanks to the lady of the house for her attentive hospitality. Regards, Legolas._

Frodo's amusement stemmed from the careful wording of this note, given that Legolas' sleeping arrangements had turned into a rather complicated negotiation. He continued to smile in amusement at this saga as he carefully replaced the note, wrapped his cloak tightly around him, and left Bag End, allowing his feet to take him where they would.

It should really have been straightforward. There were no trees nearby tall enough to climb, but even in winter Legolas would clearly prefer sleeping under the saplings and the starlight to being cooped up in a hobbit hole. He had said as much in his letter accepting their invitation, wording it tactfully of course and urging them not to trouble themselves finding an appropriately sized bed. And there the business might have ended, had it not been for Rosie. On hearing that Sam was considering having an Elf to stay- an Elf, no less!- and not providing him a room, Rosie had exploded in a rather impressive manner. It had been the one and only time that Frodo had feared for their marriage. Rosie, being married to Sam, shared his respect for, and fascination with, all things elvish. However, she did not have the experience of living among them, as Sam did, and could not comprehend how suggesting that a guest sleep outside would be anything less than a grave insult. She was adamant that they were equipping Bag End's largest room with a bed to suit a tall Elf, and nothing Frodo or Sam could say about elven custom would sway her. They warned Legolas about this on his arrival, so when the evening drew to a close he was prepared to deflect Rosie's offer of a room with his usual masterful charm. However, it appeared that in Rosie Gamgee, Eryn Lasgalen's finest diplomat had met his match. At her horrified exclamation that she would be the talk of the Shire if she turned out a guest in the winter cold, and her detailing of everything they had done to adapt one of Bag End's rooms to suit someone double a hobbit's height, he had not had the heart to resist and had accepted her offer. At this, she had given Sam a triumphant glare and Frodo's efforts to maintain a serious expression had been made even more difficult when Legolas winked at him without the others noticing.

It appeared though that their guest may have had the last word, and Frodo strongly suspected that Legolas' decision to watch this morning's sunrise had been made late last night. It was perfectly within his power to creep out silently after the hobbits fell asleep. One night, after all, counted as 'a short while' to an immortal, so his note was perfectly correct. Pondering the niceties of elvish wordplay, Frodo found that his feet had taken him to the Party Field, where in the greyish predawn stillness, the Elf in question sat beside a mallorn sapling, resting his hand on its trunk. Frodo stood and watched, not wanting to disturb the perfect peace of the scene in front of him. Legolas, though, was aware of his presence, and beckoned him over to join him.

'So I see you have escaped the clutches of the lady of the house,' Frodo remarked as he settled down beside him.

Mischief sparkled in Legolas' eyes. 'I believe I have been discreet enough not to make her the talk of the Shire, so I do hope she will forgive me.'

Frodo chuckled. 'She will not need to. We can be back before they're up. I won't say a word if you don't.'

'Agreed,' Legolas replied, laughing, and then becoming serious again as he said 'although it does not sit well with me to be complicit in hiding your disturbed rest from Sam.'

Frodo shook his head. 'He worries too much. I slept well enough. I simply…desired to watch the sunrise.'

Legolas studied him searchingly and raised an eyebrow. 'Indeed? How do you fare, Frodo?

It was clear from his tone that Legolas was seeking a genuine answer, and Frodo found himself stumped. He suddenly realised how long it had been since he had been asked that question by someone who really wanted to know. Friends, neighbours and acquaintances asked after his health daily, but the only person to whom he would answer truthfully was Sam. And Sam tended not to make him answer it, because Sam already knew. There was so much he could say, but he was unsure how much of it he could put into words.

'I am here,' he said simply.

Legolas remained silent, wordlessly inviting him to elaborate. 'And I am alive. And for so long this was a hope beyond all imagining. In fact, I could not possibly be faring better.'

Legolas smiled, but his heart ached at Frodo's response. Something about it was almost painfully elvish. So precisely worded, speaking volumes and yet leaving so much unsaid. Completely truthful but left open to interpretation. Legolas did not miss the fact that Frodo's last sentence might be understood in multiple ways.

'And you?'

Frodo looked up at him with those keen blue eyes, and Legolas was reminded again of how easily Frodo had picked up elven manners. His look was searching enough to match even one of Legolas' own. Having been asked how he was, it was only natural that Frodo returned the question, but Legolas found himself unsure how to respond. He knew that Frodo wanted more than news on the reconstruction of Ithilien, which was how he usually answered that question to anyone but Gimli. And Gimli, like Sam, did not often need to ask. Eventually, he settled on a response.

'You said that you could not possibly be faring better. Nor could I.'

 _One elvish response for another_ , Frodo thought. _I suppose I should have expected that._

For the next few minutes they were content to watch as the first pale rays of dawn broke the horizon and illuminated the frosty grass so that it glimmered like the richly adorned train of a queen's gown. Knowing as he did elven custom when it came to sharing emotional matters, and his own customary reticence, Frodo was not surprised by their last exchange, but found himself disappointed. Contemplating both their experiences of the Quest, he realised that Legolas probably understood more than any other what it was to return home a stranger and found himself frustrated that they had not been able to broach this subject in which they had a wealth of common experience. He realised that listening to the Elf sing of the sea was all that he knew of this huge change that had befallen him at Pelargir. Eventually he plucked up the courage to ask, although aware that he was flouting a long-held elven tradition.

'Legolas,' he ventured tentatively, 'may I ask you a personal question?'

The Elf looked at him, surprised. 'I am sure I will not be offended by it, so please do ask. But until I know its nature I cannot promise that I will answer.'

Frodo took a deep breath. 'What does the sea-longing feel like?'

Legolas sat staring out at the horizon for a long time, and Frodo began to feel uncomfortable, wondering if he had intruded too far. But he answered at last.

'Whatever it is, it is not all torment. The Song of the Sea is indescribably beautiful. It is a voice I have heard clearly for only a fraction of my life, yet I recognise it as though it spoke to me in my cradle. Even when I know I shouldn't listen, once I make the choice to attend to it, it is exhilarating when I yield to the voice which calls me home. But every time I turn away from it, it is like a little bereavement. And so often I am ashamed when I realise what has happened. I lose track of time, I miss things, I go to spend time with someone only to realise that they have spent hours searching for me whilst I was in a kind of trance, dreaming of the Sea. It is a life of incessant decisions, competing claims on my attention, having to choose between the present moment in this world and the eternal Sea calling me elsewhere. Sometimes, like being torn in two. I'm afraid I'm not making much sense. Does that answer your question?'

'Yes, it does. And I know exactly what you mean.'

Legolas turned back to Frodo sharply, struck by something about the way he said 'exactly.'

'You do?'

'I do not mean to presume that I understand fully. A mortal can never know what happens to a Sindarin heart when it is stirred by the Sea. It's just that feeling of being torn in two. I'm back in the Shire now, but after Mordor it doesn't feel real. It's like I'm in some kind of dream, some in-between place torn between the jagged edges of this world and the call to find healing somewhere else. And I drift, my attention wanders, sometimes I'm back there in flames and darkness and sometimes I'm… just free, somewhere else. And when I try to focus on whatever's happening, discussing a pipeweed plantation or a birthday party, it all seems like it's happening to someone else. There's no solace left in the dream once you know you're dreaming. And I don't think I will be able to sleep again. Not now.'

'Like it's all a dream and happening to someone else. But that unreal vision is all that remains to you of your home. I know that feeling all too well. I am sorry, Frodo.'

'As am I, Legolas, that you too have felt it.'

Frodo's arm twitched, as if he wanted to place a hand on Legolas' arm in comfort but thought the better of it. Legolas sensed the movement and placed his own hand on top of Frodo's. Then suddenly it didn't matter who was comforting whom, and they were leaning into each other, drawing strength from an unexpected comrade in the struggle that is life shadowed by absence.

'Do not worry about me, Frodo,' Legolas said at last. 'It is hard, and you know that, but I am learning.'

'Do you need to learn, though?' Frodo responded, frowning. 'I know you planned to settle in Ithilien, but if what you're living is _this_ – why do you not sail?'

Legolas paused for a moment, reading in Frodo's tone something more than a question about his intentions. Something more like a plea. Understanding began to dawn, and he addressed the question Frodo had not asked aloud.

'The experiences may be similar, but our situations are not exactly the same. I do not know what you intend to do with Arwen's gift, but that decision is yours and yours alone. I would not have you hear my reasoning and decide to stay if that would not be best for you.'

'I do know that- but I would like to know how you bear this, especially if you plan to stay a long time.'

Frodo was taken aback by the quiet bitterness in the response. 'It is because I am a coward, Frodo. Gimli and Aragorn might tell you that I am brave to deny the call, but they are deceived. Nothing could be further from the truth. There are certain partings that I fear far more than any battle, partings that will tear me apart far more than my current existence does, and I cannot find it in myself to face them yet. It is ironic, is it not? For in choosing to remain, in fact I am running away.'

'I do not think you a coward, Legolas. You are braver than me by far, for you do what I cannot.'

When Legolas simply looked at him questioningly, Frodo sighed and then continued.

'I have not yet informed Elrond of my intentions regarding Arwen's gift. Yet it grows clearer to me day by day that I will take it. The part of my mind that speaks with Sam's voice tells me not to rush, to give the Shire another chance, to try one more time. But now I no longer find peace in the dream, I do not think even the Shire can heal me, no matter how many times I try. And I would stay, though I am not whole, for the sake of my friends, as you do; I would stay for Sam, I would be brave for him. But I think it is beyond me.'

'Do not credit me with selflessness I do not possess,' Legolas responded, a mirthless smile turning up the corners of his lips. 'It is my friends who keep me here, but I delay this parting more for my sake than for theirs. And remember that your desire to sail is not mine. Yours springs from having seen the very worst of this world and having endured an evil none should have to bear. Sam cares about you deeply, and I am sure he would have you find peace in whatever way you can.'

'That's just it,' Frodo burst out miserably. 'Sam tries so, so hard for me that I can hardly bear it. He would go to any lengths to bring me back the joy in my home I once had. It is the only thing that mars his happiness now, that I am not healed. After all he has done for me I should at least give him this one thing he wants, but I cannot. He tries not to upset me, but when it strikes and I come back to find him holding my hand, I can see the worry and disappointment in his eyes and it pierces my very soul.'

Legolas shifted closer to Frodo as he spoke, pulling him in against his side and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

'I too have seen that worry and disappointment in a friend's eyes. And I know that it is like a knife twisting in your stomach to feel that you have failed them. Failed to heal even when they would give everything to have you back the way you were.'

'Really?'

Legolas nodded, and one word explained everything. 'Gimli.'

 _Fangorn Forest, S.R. 26_ _th_ _August 1419_

In his defence, Legolas was not in the clearing. And even if he was just within earshot, he was oblivious to all of it.

'Legolas?'

'I'm awake now, where are you?'

'Legolas, I really think we should move on, we've been here hours.'

'Kind of you to ignore me like this, I never did it to you in the Glittering Caves, did I? So much for elven courtesy.'

'Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Eryn Lasgalen, answer me!'

'You were the one who chose to travel with me, please indulge me by treating me like I'm worthy of at least as much attention as a bloody tree.'

'Legolas, if you don't come down right now, you concede that Dwarves are superior to Elves in every conceivable aspect.'

'Legolas, if you've abandoned me here and I'm eaten by an Ent, I swear by the Valar that I will find my stubborn ghoulish way to the Undying Lands and haunt you for all eternity.'

'That is not an empty threat, you pesky woodland sprite, I mean it!'

'LEGOLAS!'

The lack of an echo was unnerving. There was no stone, nothing to contain the strangeness of the forest, no walls to give you your sound back and let you know the extent of your defensible territory. His shout was instantly swallowed and muffled by the surrounding trees, leaving Gimli wondering if he had even made a sound at all. And then wondering if he was going mad.

Earlier that afternoon, Legolas had been climbing in the canopy of the trees of Fangorn forest and had said that he would remain close whilst Gimli took an afternoon nap. There had, of course been some ribbing about how Dwarves managed to get anything done other than sleep, but Gimli had decided it was worth it. Something about the forest, its quiet watchfulness and pockets of stillness, made him strangely weary. Having woken- a few hours later, he estimated from the way the light was trickling into the clearing- he called for Legolas, assuming that he would be communing with the nearby trees or other such elvish nonsense. But the lack of a response was worrying. Jests aside, Legolas did not go back on his word lightly. But surely nothing could have happened to a Wood-elf in the oldest forest in the world, could it? _Best not to tempt fate_ , he thought grimly.

The woods had become oppressive without his friend and guide and Gimli decided that he needed some clearer air. The waterskins needed refilling anyway, so Gimli resolved to go down to the stream and do that, and then return to the clearing to check if Legolas had returned. If he had not…he would deal with that later. He followed the slight downward slope in the ground and could soon hear running water. It was a relief to finally be out in a more open area by the banks of the stream and he headed towards the water, only to freeze mid-stride.

A figure in green and brown was seated cross-legged on a boulder a few feet into the stream. Long fingers trailed in the water, causing it to dance and weave in tiny eddying swirls around them. The figure was facing downstream, which was to the south. And suddenly everything made sense.

Gimli made his way over to the figure, calling out as he did so, but it was not until he was a few feet away, as close as he could get whilst remaining on the bank, that the head slowly turned towards his voice. Blue eyes lost in dreams of a distant shore blinked a few times, then came at last to rest on the Dwarf.

'Gimli?' The voice was disbelieving, and the forehead creased in confusion, as if he couldn't work out why Gimli had materialised before him.

'Yes, indeed. Gimli son of Glóin, who was your fellow Walker in the Company of the Ring, fellow hunter of orcs across Rohan, comrade in the battles of Helm's Deep, Pelennor Fields and the Black Gate and is your current travelling companion. So can you please stop looking at me as if I'm some exotic species of beetle you've never seen before in your life!'

A few more blinks and a shake of the head.

'Forgive me, Gimli. I was distracted. Clearly I lost track of time.'

'You said you'd stay close!'

'I did. I stayed within earshot.' A flash of realisation. 'Oh. You weren't calling, were you?'

Gimli snorted. 'For about half an hour. I was beginning to wonder if you'd managed to upset an Ent.'

Legolas was affronted. 'I am a Wood-elf. I would do no such thing.'

'Yes, but-' Gimli held out a hand and Legolas pointedly ignored it, leaping in one swift motion back to shore. Gimli continued.

'You just had hours to spend with the trees and instead you spent them here.'

'I apologise for not sticking exactly to your schedule for my life, Master Dwarf,' he responded icily.

Gimli almost retorted in a similar vein, but then checked himself. He was perplexed by his friend's behaviour and wanted more from this conversation than verbal sparring.

'I was not criticising,' he replied softly. 'I was merely curious. I thought-well, I thought that perhaps Fangorn would be enough.'

Legolas stood tall and straight, his head tilted slightly to the side. His gaze, once more, had drifted south.

'Enough to compete with the voice that calls me home?' he replied quietly. 'Once I believed that. Now I am not so sure.'

Though this statement chilled Gimli to the core, he ruthlessly pushed aside his own emotions, and reached for the words which had helped to bring Legolas back from this on previous occasions.

'The world is made of complex music, Legolas, you've told me that before. The Sea is not a soloist. Listen to the voices of the trees, hear them welcoming you. Listen to the rhythms of the forest, those that you taught a Dwarf to hear. Listen to _me_. '

With obvious effort, Legolas wrenched his gaze from the stream and turned his sorrowful eyes back on Gimli.

'I am trying to listen, Gimli. I can just about hear your voice and the voices of the forest. But now those voices are overshadowed by the Song of the sea, and sometimes the waves roar so loudly that it is impossible to listen to anything else.'

'I think I understand that,' the Dwarf replied, his brow furrowed and his eyes uncharacteristically soft, concerned. 'It must be hard, after hearing that gull. It just surprised me, is all. The Elf I travelled with six months ago was loath to be dragged away from those ancient trees even to fight Sauron!'

'The Elf you travelled with six months ago is gone, Gimli. I am no longer the Elf you loathed nearly a year ago and loved a short while later. I am sorry. I cannot bring him back for you.'

He turned on his heel, aware that his mask of impeccable control was slipping, and not trusting himself to continue the conversation. He darted back towards the forest and was lost among the trees, Gimli's calls to wait following fruitlessly after him until the forest's wall of silence consumed them.


	2. Chapter 2: Fool of an Elf

**Chapter 2: Fool of an Elf**

 _The Shire, S.R. 28th November 1420_

'I imagine it must be harder for you and Sam, though,' said Legolas thoughtfully after a moment of silence, watching as tendrils of pale pink streaked across the sky. 'Sam had years of knowing you before the War, whereas Gimli went from insulting my father every fifth step to wearing me out with his questions about trees within a matter of months. And after that he had only a month or so of acknowledged friendship to get used to how I was before Pelargir happened.'

Frodo smiled. 'Well, it was hardly an ordinary month or so, all the same. Mortal peril has a way of forging friendships. And poor old Sam knew this was coming for a while, I think. He saw me gradually losing to the Ring over our journey. When you heard the call of the gull it was a sudden change, wasn't it? I don't know which is worse.'

'And I doubt it would be a happy, or a fruitful calculation. Our respective dooms are set, and those of our friends along with us, though we would spare them if they let us. We have only to work out the path ahead of us as the people we are now.'

'How? I love Sam with every fibre of my being and yet it's still not enough. I cannot heal myself, even for him.'

Legolas was still and silent for a long time. Eventually, he spoke with unusual hesitancy.

'I believe I am about to fly in the face of one of my people's oldest and most cherished traditions.'

A slow smile spread over Frodo's face. 'Is it the one about counsel? Because I would gladly accept any you have to give.'

'You guess correctly, but I do not believe you will like what I suggest. And you should not feel bound to it.'

'Of course. What would you have me do?'

'Tell Sam everything you just told me. All of it.'

Frodo frowned in confusion. 'But I can't do that! It would hurt him. Imagine if he knew that even his efforts to help me make me feel so much worse because I'm guilty about letting him down!'

'That's the point. He probably isn't aware that you feel that way and he needs to know that if the two of you are to work this out together. And I suspect that the disappointment you think you see is not what it seems, although you need to hear that from his lips, not mine. My counsel, if you would hear it, is this. Cast aside your masks and pretences, even if you built them for Sam's sake, and let him in to everything that returning home changed means to you. Including the fact that you see the effort he goes to trying to find some peace for you and it crushes you that you cannot reward him by being healed. You would spare him the pain of knowing this if you could. But, remember that we speak of the friend who stayed with you until Orodruin itself. There is no place for secret shame between you now. If you despair of giving him anything else, your honesty at least is one way you can honour his trust. It will not be an easy conversation for either of you. But Sam will understand.'

'How can you be so sure of that?'

Legolas was again quiet for a long time, until he answered softly,

'Because Gimli did.'

 _Fangorn Forest, S.R. 26_ _th_ _August 1419_

Bewildered by his friend's sudden flight from their conversation, Gimli was left standing on the bank with unanswered questions swarming in his mind. Eventually he decided that he might as well collect the water as he had planned, and then return to the clearing where they had camped, hoping that Legolas would do the same. Although he was in a strange mood, Gimli trusted him not to abandon a companion. This done, Gimli squinted around the clearing. No sign visible to his eyes, but months travelling with a Wood-elf had taught him that this indicated nothing. He called out, but there was no answer. He huffed, then thought for a moment.

'Legolas, I am not as comfortable in these woods as you are. You know this. It would ease my mind to know if you are near.'

A moment's silence, then a pine cone flew in a graceful arc from a nearby tree to land with a thud at his feet. Gimli shook his head as he translated this happening.

 _I'm here. You're safe. But I don't want to talk._

'Have it your way, then. I'll be down here when you're ready.'

The evening passed. Gimli made a small fire and began to cook some of their supplies. Not really expecting an answer, he called up to the tree asking if Legolas wanted dinner. As predicted, there was no response. After eating, he sat deliberately close to the tree from which the pine cone had originated and had a good long smoke on his pipe. Still nothing. This was getting worrying.

'Legolas, are you still there?'

A second pine cone hit him squarely on the head.

That would be a yes.

Gimli waited. And waited longer. And then, as the light faded from the clearing, he had had enough. It was time for desperate measures. He turned to the tree which had been the focus of his attention, squared his shoulders and muttered an apology to it. This confirmed it. He really was going mad. He had just apologised to a bloody _tree._ Too much time with that ridiculous elf. Speaking of whom…

Rather ungainly but not lacking in determination, he began to make his way up the tree, concentrating very, very hard on not looking down. A couple of times he had to stop and consider carefully which handholds were closest to his reach, most often concluding that it was none of them, and then having to make a stomach-churning lurch up to grab onto one. He would then continue his cautious and slightly awkward shuffling up the trunk. After some time progressing in this manner, he was mentally cursing his sweating and slippery hands, the activity of climbing, this tree, Fangorn forest, elves in general and one particular stubborn fool of an elf who refused to listen to reason- and who had just materialised, staring down at him inquisitively from a higher branch.

'Gimli?' Had he not been halfway up a tree, Gimli would have roared with laughter at Legolas' bemused expression.

'Yes, those keen elven eyes do not deceive you. I am climbing a tree. And I would prefer that to stop being a present participle in the very near future, if you don't mind. Can you see a branch nearby that will hold us both?'

Legolas shook his head in exasperation. 'Have I not made it perfectly clear that I wish to be alone?'

'Little else has been clear since you decided to start communicating solely through the medium of pine cones,' Gimli replied, his aching arms only adding to his irritation.

'So why follow me up here then? _Valar_ save me from obstinate Dwarves!'

Gimli was about to retort, but felt his grip begin to slide and cursed as he scrabbled for purchase on the bark. There was a flash of movement in the branches above him and he suddenly found himself grabbed by the shoulders, hauled around the tree's circumference and balanced precariously on a wide bough extending from other side. In a second, Legolas was in front of him, his own feet anchored in a fork in the branches further out on the bough, reaching forward to push him rather unceremoniously into a more stable position, seated with his back against the trunk of the tree. He hovered there for a second, waiting to catch Gimli if he fell, until the Dwarf batted his steadying hands away and gave him a dark look. Legolas responded with a rather formidable one of his own.

'So it seems that my wishes are irrelevant in this matter,' he said, as he assumed an elegant perch in the centre of the branch.

'When they are as ridiculous as expecting me to leave you alone to brood when you're in this state, yes!'

'I would remind you that you are not my minder, Gimli,' Legolas responded in the voice which usually meant that a creature of evil was about to meet its doom.

'I know that much! Anyway, no sane person in Middle Earth would ever take that job, even if they were paying in mithril! No, I am not your minder. I am your friend.' He pulled one knee up onto the branch and clasped his hands around it, attempting to look like someone you would confide in. Gimli being a rather stocky Dwarf with a gigantic beard adorned with warrior's braids, the result was a little frightening. 'So tell me.'

'Tell you what?' Legolas responded sullenly.

Gimli very, very nearly gave up then. No matter that he had initiated this and they were perched in a tree, he could jump, it wasn't too far to the ground, a couple of broken bones wouldn't be too bad, if only he could get away from this preposterous, stubborn, infuriating creature…he took a deep breath. And reminded himself that this preposterous, stubborn, infuriating creature was his friend. And that Dwarves of Erebor do not give up. He took another deep breath and settled with simply raising his bristling eyebrows.

Perhaps sensing a little of what was going through Gimli's mind, Legolas relented. 'I suppose that was a rather foolish question.'

'Aye. So let's try again. Tell me.'

'The sea longing was particularly acute. I have described it before. I have no wish to spell it out to you again now.'

'I know that, and I don't expect you to. But I've seen you when it's been bad before, and there's something different today. It's connected to the sea longing, but it's not just that. Something I said earlier unsettled you. What did I say wrong? _Mahal,_ get angry with me if I've done something to hurt you, just tell me what it is!'

'It was not your fault, Gimli.' The defensive edge in Legolas' voice had vanished, leaving only a tone of empty defeat. Gimli couldn't decide which was worse.

'Then what was it?'

'You reminded me that half a year ago I would never have dreamed of leaving the trees of Fangorn when I had chance to explore them.'

'There's really no need to worry over that! I told you, I wasn't criticising, it was just an observation. I know things are different now.'

Legolas gave a hollow laugh. 'That's just it. Things are different. I'm different. And only today have I begun to realise how much that change has cost me.'

'I am sorry that one remark has brought you such pain.'

Legolas shook his head. 'You're becoming disturbingly like Aragorn,' he said with a rueful smile. 'You need to learn when things are beyond your control and hence beyond your responsibility also. What you said was true. It is not the fact you stated it that bothers me. The truth of it would have caught up with me soon anyway, and it is probably better to face it now.'

'Would you tell me more about exactly what it is you are facing? The fact that you have changed since we were first in Fangorn - well, forgive me, but I thought you already knew that.'

'I did. But I did not know how profound the change was, nor how much I had lost. What disturbed me most is that the idea of spending my time differently never even crossed my mind until you said it. As soon as the running water began to speak to me of its path to the sea, I followed it. It seemed the most natural thing in the world. The song of the trees faded into the distance until the sound of the water drowned it out. I didn't even question it or try to resist. It is claiming me, little by little. I thought I was stronger than this.'

Gimli's mind supplied what was unsaid. _I thought I'd be strong enough to stay._ The panic was rising in him as he contemplated two nightmarish alternatives: one, a world in which Legolas sailed and would no longer be there to laugh with him, to travel with him, to remember the events of the past year with him. The other, and probably more likely, a world in which Legolas stayed, stubbornly holding to his word which he valued so highly, but the longing consumed him until he was a shell of his former self. He battled to banish both visions of the future and sifted through everything Legolas had said about the sea-longing to try to find some comfort for his friend in the present.

'But you say sometimes that the song of the water is also beautiful. You describe it as multiple melodies sharing your heart. Surely you have gained, rather than lost, something if you can see beauty in the world you didn't see before?'

'Ai, Gimli.' The rueful smile again. 'I see I have convinced you with the lies I told myself. Well, perhaps not lies, but half-truths. The call of the Sea _is_ beautiful. It is exquisite, miraculous even. So much so that it will not share a heart willingly. So much so that it forces the other melodies I love to retreat, and even when I give my all to push back against it, to truly listen to something else, it is always there. It never rests. I have spent the evening trying to listen to the Song of the trees, trying to focus on that alone, but I cannot, not like before. Six months ago, when we were on the outskirts, I caught snatches of the Song of these trees, and longed to listen to it. It is so deep, so rich, so strange. It is a Song woven over centuries, singing of gentle growth from a time when the even the stars were younger. I would gladly have dreamed under their eaves for days on end, if I could come to learn even one phrase of that Song. But today, one south-flowing stream and I forgot it all. And even when I tried to listen just now, my Song did not merge with theirs. It cannot. I can hear their melody, the ancient strength of it, and my instincts tell me to use my own Song, to hear how it falls into harmony with theirs. But it is as if I'm always a beat out, a beat late, and I cannot catch up. The very Song that makes up who I am is fundamentally different now, and it does not belong with the Song of these trees. I can pretend no longer. I have changed, and I have lost much.'

Gimli had heard that note of sorrow in Legolas' voice before, seen the expression of keenly felt grief in his eyes. But it had only ever been in song or tale, when he had recounted the doom of parted lovers or fallen kings from the distant past. Gimli had never seen him thus when speaking of himself. It was heart-breaking. Eyes full of consternation and compassion, Gimli looked across to his friend and swallowed hard as he desperately tried to think of something he could say to make it better. Seeing this, Legolas tensed.

'Don't, Gimli,' he said sharply. 'This is not something you can mend. I appreciate that you care enough to try to help me fight this, but sooner or later I will fail you. I already have. I am no longer who you think I should be and you cannot change that. I am sorry.'

This was unexpected. Not the resistance to pity, that was a given, but the idea of him failing Gimli was ludicrous.

'What? No, Legolas, you've never failed me! I don't think that you should be anyone other than who you are. What has happened to make you think that?'

'When we talked earlier, I thought- perhaps I was wrong, but I thought you seemed disappointed. As if I let you down by not doing what you expected me to.'

' _Mahal,_ no! Of course not!' Gimli's eyes widened. 'Why in Middle Earth would you choosing to listen to the water over the trees be letting me down?'

Legolas gave a small shrug. 'I do not know. I simply speak of what I thought I saw. Perhaps it is because you are wont to go to great lengths to help me resist or endure the longing, for which I am grateful. I failed you in succumbing so easily.'

Gimli leaned his head against the tree, stunned by these revelations. He had indeed been something of a personal guard against the longing for Legolas, especially during their time in Minas Tirith. After the Elf had expressed his frustration that the longing preyed on his mind even though he had decided to remain in Middle Earth, Gimli had done everything in his power to help him fight it. He had become sensitised to the direction of the wind and was particularly vigilant when it was from the south. He watched Legolas' expression during group conversations and gave him a nudge if his eyes grew distant or drifted towards the window. He even argued Legolas into taking him on riding trips, despite his dislike of horses, knowing that the natural environment would be more helpful than the stone walls of Minas Tirith in reminding the Elf of his connection with this world. More times than he could count, he had approached a figure standing stock still at a window or on a balcony and begun a rambling, one-sided conversation until silence gave way to monosyllables which gave way to retorts, until Legolas had the strength to turn away and walk back to company with him. He had seen it as a battle, he and Legolas as comrades fighting side by side against the enemy that would prise his friend away from Middle Earth.

But now, for the first time, he really tried to imagine being in Legolas' position, battling an urge which would only grow stronger with time, and constantly having to explain to the friends who were trying to help that their efforts would ultimately be futile. He imagined how it must feel to have listened to those urges and then face the friend who had tried to give you the means to resist. If Legolas visualised all this the same way he did, then every time the power of the sea overwhelmed him, it must feel like he had lost the battle due to weakness. Like he had failed his comrades. Like a betrayal.

 _Durin's beard, no wonder he's always on edge! Fighting a battle he cannot win and berating himself every time he loses because he thinks he's letting me down. How in Mahal's name am I going to deal with this mess?_

'I'm right, aren't I?' Legolas interrupted his musings. 'You are disappointed in me. You have good cause to be so. You have given so much in your fight to bring me back from this and all I do is let you down. I am sorry.'

With horror, Gimli realised that his silence had been interpreted as assent and felt a sudden urge to shout, to take that foolish Elf by the shoulders and give him a good hard shake until he finally saw sense. However, apart from the impracticality of taking on a Wood-elf in a tree, Gimli knew that this would not help matters. More heat in this discussion was the last thing that would convince Legolas that he was not a disappointment. He steadied himself, forced himself to look into the tumult of the intense blue eyes which were fixed on him, and began.

' _Mellon nín_ , listen to me. We both know that the sea-longing was stirred in your heart by forces beyond your control. It is a strong calling, for it is a calling home, and one day you will heed it. You will not fight this battle forever, and you do not have to fight it now.'

'You think I cannot hold it off then. You think me weak.'

 _Dratted Elf! Why must he be so determined to twist my words to torment himself?_ Gimli resisted the urge to cry out in frustration and tried again.

'On the contrary. The fact that you choose to fight it is a testament to your strength, unshakeable loyalty and ridiculous stubbornness.'

He ran his hand through his beard, trying to sift through his thoughts.

'Perhaps I'm not helping by referring to it as a fight. Because your longing isn't really an enemy, so it's not like you're surrendering when you feel it strongly.'

'Isn't it? It has stolen my ability to find harmony with the trees. It has made me like a stranger in these lands I have loved for centuries. And it tries to wrench me prematurely away from those I love, those from whom I will one day be sundered for eternity. It is certainly not a friend. But, ai, it is an enchanting enemy.'

'Perhaps it is neither a friend nor an enemy,' Gimli ventured hesitantly. 'Perhaps it simply _is._ '

Legolas regarded him, his brow furrowed slightly. Gimli continued.

'Maybe it's just that we're picturing it wrong. Maybe it's not a battle, but a quest. The destination is chosen for us, and all roads lead ultimately to the sea. But the route is your choice. And because it's you, you're going to choose the most difficult and dangerous one and go the long way round. And because it's me, I'm fool enough or mad enough to follow.'

Legolas smiled sadly. 'You don't have to.'

'I know that. But I'll do it all the same. And when you look at it this way, when you need to escape for a few hours to listen to the Sea, it's not a defeat. It's just pausing for a while to reorient yourself and remember where you're headed, though you might be taking a detour for a while. And no traveller would deny their companion that, still less be disappointed in them for it.'

'So you dress up my failure to resist this in metaphor, attempting thus to remove its sting. Cleverly done, Gimli, but the fact remains. I have let you down and you are trying to be kind by not saying it.'

' _No!'_ Gimli tried not to let his irritation show, desperate to get through to his friend somehow. 'When you speak of battle and resistance, what is that but metaphor? Living with the sea-longing is nothing but itself, and I thought it might be wise to consider a different way in which it might be understood. But you have clearly lost patience with figures of speech, so I will speak plainly.'

He lowered his voice and made it rich with the earnestness he felt in his heart.

'I am not disappointed in you. Never have been, never will be. I don't want to bring back the Elf who came to Fangorn six months ago. I want _you._ You, complete with your sea-longing, scars, and that stubbornness that's making you stay. Speaking of which, if you do deny the call, it should be because that's what you want, not because you think that's what I expect of you. You said that the Song that makes up who you are has changed. I don't resent that. Far from it, because it means I get the chance to learn it anew. And as I do that, I will learn the things that ease your soul. And I don't care whether that involves blocking out the call or listening to it, and in no way do you fail me if it is the latter. If you need me to drag you away from a window so you can make the most of time with friends, I will do it. If you need to me to stand beside you in silence while you listen to the gulls, I will do it. And if, one day, you need me to wave you off from the shores of the Grey Havens-

To his own surprise and chagrin, his voice nearly broke as he faced up to this possibility, which for so long he had pushed to the back of his mind with a firm _not yet_. But he finished his sentence.

'-then I will do it,' he whispered.

Legolas had turned his face away, bowing his head over his knee, but Gimli could see that the usually imperceptible rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed was visible now. It was a long time before he spoke, and he did not lift his head when he did. His voice was uncharacteristically small.

'I do not deserve you, Gimli.'

This, at last, was too much for Gimli. The tears he had struggled to restrain as he contemplated a final, eternal goodbye broke out.

'You complete and utter _fool_!' he exclaimed affectionately, smiling through his tears as he braved reaching along the tree branch to try to grasp Legolas' forearm. He overestimated his balance, however, and missed, ending up instead clinging to the Elf's knee for dear life. Legolas looked up in surprise, revealing the eyes brimming with tears which he had been trying to conceal. Somehow or other, both of them laughing and weeping in equal measure, they managed to right their balance and end up side by side on the bough, locked in a fierce hug.

 _The Shire, S.R. 28th November 1420_

Frodo was stunned.

'You…you told Gimli how you felt about disappointing him?'

'He didn't exactly give me much choice. He saw that something was weighing on me and went as far as pursuing me into a tree to get it out of me. But yes.'

'Gimli voluntarily climbed a tree?'

Legolas laughed at Frodo's astonishment. 'He did indeed. Completely of his own accord.' His voice grew more serious. 'He is a good friend.'

'That much is clear. As is Sam. He would even follow me by boat if he thought I was upset and hiding it and that was the only way to reach me.'

'Aye. I don't doubt it. And that is why I believe he deserves to hear how you feel in its entirety. Gimli would not have had to climb a tree had I been more forthcoming.'

Frodo looked up at Legolas with a subdued smile. 'You would think that by now we would both have learnt that hiding things from them is not a good idea even if we could manage it.'

'You would hope that, wouldn't you? But I am a stubborn, foolish Elf, as Gimli has informed me on multiple occasions.' He grinned mischievously. 'So I take it you're not planning on making Sam follow you down a river to get you to talk about this?'

'No, I'm not, I will find a way to speak of it,' he replied, smiling back, and then frowning. 'Sam has already suffered far too much on account of me.'

'Frodo. I have already broken the habit of many _yéni_ this morning. Would you permit me to do it again?'

'I would welcome it. Though I suspect you're going to tell me not to blame myself for Sam's choices?'

'I am indeed, and I do not do it lightly. I mean it. This is something I too have had to learn.'

 _Fangorn Forest, S.R. 26_ _th_ _August 1419_

They sat in companionable silence for a while after the storm of emotion had passed. Gimli grew aware again of the fact that he was too high up for his liking and continued to lean against Legolas' side even when they had released each other from the hug. The poignancy of what they had just shared was enough to banish any niggling thoughts of pride and independence. Sensing his discomfort, Legolas kept his arm resting reassuringly around Gimli's shoulder. Legolas spoke first, hesitantly.

'Gimli, forgive me if I am prying, but what did you feel when you found me earlier? I sensed that you were in the grip of some sort of strong emotion. What was it if not disappointment?'

Gimli considered this for a while, and finally said, 'Perhaps it was disappointment. Though it was not _in_ you- it could never be that, you hear? But I was disappointed _for_ you. I didn't really understand until you explained all that about the Song, but I think I realised that for you to leave the trees like that, you must have lost something big. And I really am sorry.'

'Don't be. It's not your fault. And it's not yours to bear.'

'It is if I choose to share it. Which I do.'

Legolas shook his head. 'You never signed up for this, Gimli. You did something very unusual in befriending an Elf and look where it got you. You're stuck with someone different from the Elf you first met. Someone who is torn between two worlds and will inevitably inflict pain on those around him whether he leaves or stays. I'm sorry it turned out like this. You know you don't have to stay with me if you don't want to. I understand.'

Gimli looked up at him in amused weariness. 'And there was me thinking that you couldn't possibly make any statement more ridiculous than anything you've already said this evening. Well, Master Elf, you have proven me wrong yet again.'

When Legolas began to smile, he carried on. 'I do know I can leave you if I want to. You inform me of that so frequently I begin to wonder if you regret befriending a Dwarf. However, as for me being stuck with you, I beg to differ. I think you'll find that you are the one who is stuck with me.'

'Perhaps this is selfish, but I am glad of that.'

'Hmmph. Selfish or not, so am I.' They settled into silence again for a while, until Gimli said:

'Now, I think a lot of things are clearer now. You often don't tell me when you're aching because of the longing or when you're mourning what you've lost because you don't want it to upset me. That right?'

'Perhaps.'

'Hmmph. As good an acknowledgement as I'm going to get, I suppose. Well, let me tell you this now. I choose to stand beside you. I choose to let the things that grieve you grieve me too. And there is nothing at all you can say or do that will make me change that choice. You have far too much emotional turmoil between those pointy ears as it is without you making yourself responsible for my feelings as well. So next time, concern about me does not come into it at all, you tell me, and we deal with it together. Agreed?'

'Do I get a choice in this matter?'

'None whatsoever.'

'I see. I cannot promise not to consider how what I divulge may affect you. But next time, I will attempt to overcome my reservations and tell you nonetheless. And I trust that should you be in distress, you would do the same. Will that suffice?'

'Aye. That'll do for now.' Once again they fell into a comfortable silence. Gimli had gradually relaxed as he got used to his new position on the branch and incredibly, he found himself lulled by the gentle rustling of the leaves and the warm presence of the Elf at his side. He was on the point of drifting off when Legolas spoke again.

'Gimli?'

'Mhmmm?'

'I will never regret befriending a Dwarf.'


	3. Chapter 3: Enough

**Chapter Three: Enough**

 _The Shire, S.R. 28th November 1420_

'It is hard, Frodo, I know that well. But I have come to realise that it is not a respectful thing to assume that you are somehow responsible for the fact that he would do anything for you. Sam is his own person, and he is not a fool. He knew that he would face fear and sadness with you on your road, and he knows that he will face it again as you learn to live with the memories. You may not understand why he keeps choosing to come with you- Elbereth knows I wonder that about Gimli - but it is all you can do to let him make that choice and thank the Valar that he does.'

'I wonder if they know, these friends of ours,' Frodo mused, 'that sometimes it is wonderful and painful at the same time, to know that you are loved like this.'

'I wonder,' Legolas replied thoughtfully, 'though it is painful at times, I hope they do. I am sure that at least Sam does, having a friend like you.'

'As I am sure that Gimli knows it too.'

They shared a smile and turned to watch the spectacle unfolding before them, as pinks and lilacs dissolved into the crisp clear blue of a winter morning, and the sun began to peek out from behind a clump of trees to the East. Eventually, Legolas broke the silence.

'For the sake of the lady of the house and her famous breakfast, perhaps we ought to be getting back.'

'Aye, you certainly don't want to be late for this.'

They rose together and made their way back towards Bag End. Both were quiet, pondering all that had been said, until just outside the gate to the front garden, Frodo paused.

'Legolas,' he called softly, reaching up to tap his arm. The Elf turned and looked back at him inquisitively.

' _Hannon le_.'

Legolas met Frodo's eyes and deliberately gentled his usual intense gaze as he smiled back.

' _Hannon le, Frodo_.'

 _The Shire, S.R 15_ _th_ _December 1420_

Legolas' extensive travel plans whilst away from Ithilien permitted him only a few days in Bag End, but they were enough to throw Rosie into a crisis of doubt about her cooking, despite the Elf's repeated reassurances that the fare was marvellous, and that he had consumed as much as he would usually eat in a month during his short stay. Sam, too, had reassured his wife that an Elvish appetite was very different from a hobbit's, which only perplexed her even more ('But it's not natural, eating so little and being so tall! He should really eat double a hobbit's fare, stands to reason!) Apart from this worry, Rosie was mightily impressed with their guest, and was amazed that he seemed as genuinely interested in her anecdotes about Shire life as she was in his tales of the Elves. And both she and Sam were deeply moved when, on the day of his departure, he knelt before them, held both of their hands, and sang a traditional elvish blessing of joy and health and strength for their coming child. Frodo and Sam accompanied him on his route to Rivendell as far as Bree, leaving Rosie to spend some time with her parents, and introduced him to various other locations in the Shire on the way, and thus they spent a very pleasant week together, strengthening the old ties once again. Both he and Frodo had their occasional moments of absence, but between the three of them there was no need for explanation, and the distant expressions which sometimes stole into Frodo's and Legolas' eyes passed again quickly, for the most part. Frodo was quiet and thoughtful after he and Sam had bid Legolas farewell at Bree and sent with him their good wishes and regard to all at Rivendell. He considered broaching the subject he had discussed with Legolas, but found it difficult to know where to begin, and decided to wait for the right moment.

Frodo and Sam returned to Bag End late on a Sunday afternoon, and were just opening the gate as the first flakes of light snowfall began to land on their cloaks. Soon they were inside in front of a roaring fire, sipping mugs of hot tea, Frodo wrapped in as many blankets as Sam could persuade him to accept. When Frodo had finally convinced Sam to stop bustling and sit down himself, the latter sighed contentedly.

'Now this, this is proper behaviour on a snowy afternoon. Warm fire, drinking something nice and hot, watching it come down all pretty through a window. None of this running about in it lark.'

Frodo chuckled. 'Aye, Sam, I quite agree. Caradhras gave us enough of that for a lifetime. I wonder if it's snowing where Legolas is? He'll be in his element.'

'I'll say! I wonder if he finds the sun this time?' Sam grinned back at Frodo, as they both remembered the strange excitement that had come over their elven friend when the rest of the Company saw nothing but mortal peril, and imagined him now, running light-footed through a snowy pine forest on the way to Rivendell, probably singing merrily as he went.

'If he's looking for the sun, no better place than Rivendell to find it,' Frodo replied.

'Aye, Mr Frodo, it's a marvellous place. Would you like to visit it again, do you think?'

The question chilled Frodo's heart, despite his bodily warmth. Sam was asking it in terms of a simple visit, going to see friends and then returning home. He knew that Sam was as yet reluctant to acknowledge that one day, he might go to Rivendell, set out with Elrond and not come back. He settled with saying:

'Aye, Sam. And I think I will, one day.'

Sam knew from the slightly odd tone in his master's voice not to probe further and was confirmed in his suspicions when Frodo changed the subject. The diversionary tactic worked at least, since it reminded Sam of something he had been planning for a while.

'You know, on days like today, Bilbo always said you couldn't do without-'

'Well, bless me, I almost forgot! Stay right there Mr Frodo!'

Frodo looked on in amazement as Sam dashed towards the pantry without another word, wondering if Sam had read his mind. It appeared that he had, for he returned with a roasting tray and a large case of chestnuts.

'I had these saved up special for a day like today, sir, and blow me if it didn't slip my mind completely! I know it's Master Bilbo's favourite thing on a winter's day.'

'Have I told you before that you're a marvel, Sam?'

'You have, sir, and you really oughtn't go showering praise where it's not due. It's just a couple of chestnuts, nothing more.'

'Nothing more than a couple of chestnuts, and memories of a time when I had no more to worry about than cold fingers and Bilbo sending me to bed before he finished his story. Thank you, Sam.'

'It's alright, Mr Frodo,' Sam responded quickly and busied himself with setting the chestnuts to roast over the fire, turning away so that Frodo could not see the blush that spread across his face at these words. He was unsure how to respond to the revelation that Frodo observed his attempts to bring back pleasant childhood memories, knew exactly what he was doing and was grateful for it. So he turned the conversation instead to their past week, and together they relived the best moments of it: the amusing confusions as they tried to explain the intricacies of hobbit customs; Farmer Maggot's face of utter disbelief upon finding that a climbing-starved Wood-elf in the flat land of the Shire had given in to his instincts and was happily clambering on the roof of his barn; Sam's pride as he presented the saplings he had nurtured and the joy they all shared as they celebrated the return of life to the Shire. And thus a good many chestnuts were roasted, eaten and enjoyed, until at last they lapsed into contented silence. Frodo snuggled into his blankets, more peaceful than he had felt for a very long time. His eyes slid almost shut, so that the living room receded and all that remained was the comforting glow of the fire.

Though he remained aware of the dull red glow before him, at some point Frodo's consciousness, slipping slowly into sleep, discarded the information that it represented the hearth fire in Bag End. But he remained in the hinterland between sleeping and waking once that information had disappeared, and suddenly the glow was no longer comforting. Suddenly he was facing a menace. It was a fire, and it was all-consuming. It was devouring something important to him, something he had to get back at all costs. Something indescribably precious. He tried to reach out but his movement was restricted, and he was thrashing against the coverings that enveloped him until he fell forwards onto his knees with a cry. He scanned the fire desperately for something tiny, something circular, but the form he found in the flames was not what he sought. It was a great, lidless Eye which pinioned him with its gaze, rendering him helpless before its power. Now he desired not to reach the fire but to flee from it, and he scrabbled backwards on the floor as he sought to escape, even whilst knowing that all was lost, He would show no mercy and there was no way out.

Just as he was giving in to despair, hope unlooked for arrived in the form of a shape which came between him and the Eye, shielding him from its gaze. His rescuer reached out towards him, and, badly shaken as he was, he responded instantly without a thought for his pride crossing his mind. He clung to the person who had saved him from Sauron's wrath, trembling violently in the arms which immediately encircled him. He remained there a long time, panicked thoughts of battle and escape chasing each other around his mind as he wondered where the Eye was looking now, whether whoever had saved him could face such a foe as Sauron, whether they would both make it out alive. These thoughts gradually dissipated as his breaths slowed from shallow panting to a more even pattern, and he became more aware of his surroundings. He realised that a voice was speaking to him, though it sounded as if it were coming from a long way off. It grew louder and more immediate as he began to attend to it.

'Nowt to fear, Mr Frodo, I'm right here. He can't hurt you now. We were just roasting chestnuts in Bag End like you did with Bilbo when you were a tween. It's December 1420 and we just got back from taking Mr Legolas to Bree, remember. It's safe. Your Sam will protect you.'

His trembling body stilled but he remained pressed against what he now knew to be Sam's body, holding tightly as the realisation of where he was crashed over him, accompanied by the crushing shame of having been so needlessly afraid. The voice continued its recitation of reassurances, and it dawned on Frodo that he didn't know how many times they had already been repeated while he was wrapped up in his panic.

'That's right, Mr Frodo, just hold on to Sam. There's nowt here to fear and it wouldn't get past me if there was. It's all over and done with now, we're back in the Shire, nothing can hurt you anymore. I won't let it. Come back to me, Mr Frodo. We're by the hearth in Bag End in December 1420. We were roasting chestnuts…'

The voice was set to continue in its soothing repetitions, but at last Frodo pulled away and looked into eyes brimming with so much love and concern that it made his heart ache.

'We were roasting chestnuts,' he repeated numbly, finally taking in the comfortable furniture around them that held so many memories, and the snow swirling and eddying outside, framed by the round window like a work of art. He remembered the moment before he drifted away, when he felt such peace that he thought maybe, just maybe, he might be able to believe in the Shire as a home again. Their afternoon had been the epitome of Shire cosiness, warm and comfortable with good food, fond memories and the greatest of friends to share it with.

 _And yet it wasn't enough._

He looked up to see Sam kneeling before him, both hands still resting protectively on Frodo's shoulders, giving him an encouraging smile and nodding despite the worry and sadness troubling his eyes.

He could not bear it.

He turned his face away with a choked sob, unable to look at that earnest expression a moment longer. He found himself quickly gathered into Sam's arms again, his head supported against a firm shoulder by Sam's hand, and gently rocked as the tears he could not restrain broke from him.

'Oh Mr Frodo, that was quite a bad one, wasn't it? You must have been so frightened. It's alright, just let it all out now. But he was never here, he can't hurt you now. You're safe and Sam's right beside you and always will be.'

Sam's words, however, only caused Frodo to sob harder, as he cried not for the remembered fear, though that had shaken him, but for the realisation that everything he loved about home would never close his wounds, and for the crushing guilt of knowing that Sam's faith in his healing had been misplaced. He could not find his voice to express this, besides not knowing how he would go about it, so he tried not to listen to Sam's exact words, just allowing the rhythm of a familiar voice to wash over him as he worked out his grief. Eventually his sobs subsided enough for him to permit him to rasp out weakly, 'I'm sorry, Sam.'

'You've nowt to be sorry for, Mr Frodo,' Sam told him firmly, which released yet another wave of grief and shame within Frodo. This time he firmly bit it back and focused on regaining his composure, extricating himself from Sam's arms and wiping his eyes with the handkerchief Sam seemed to miraculously produce out of nowhere.

'Do you want to get up off this floor then, Mr Frodo?' Sam asked gently. They were both still kneeling at the spot where Frodo had fallen forwards from his chair. Frodo nodded and managed a weak smile but couldn't help flinching when Sam shifted from his position and he caught a glimpse of the hearth fire which had metamorphosed so terrifyingly only moments before. It crackled on merrily, completely indifferent to the panic it had just induced. Puzzled, Sam looked from Frodo to the fire and back again, and then he understood.

'It was the fire, wasn't it, Mr Frodo? It made you think that you were _there._ '

Frodo nodded again, fixing his eyes on the flames and deliberately repeating to himself that it was the hearth fire in Bag End until he could regard it with something approaching calm. Almost automatically, he allowed Sam to help him to his feet and settle him back in his chair, tenderly replacing the blankets that Frodo had thrown off wildly earlier. Sam noticed that Frodo continued to stare at the fire as he did so, and that he had gone very pale. He regarded the offending flames thoughtfully.

'Hmmmm. What can we do about that, eh? We can't very well not have a fire on a chill day like today, but I could find something to screen it so you don't have to look at it, if you like, Mr Frodo? Or maybe it's the way it's built, because this doesn't always happen, does it? Would it help if I did it differently? We could go-'

'Please, Sam, stop!' Sam turned back to his master, surprised from his musings on the matter of the fire by the desperation in the voice. Frodo went on once he had Sam's attention, realising that now was the time to have the conversation he had been wondering how to start since Legolas' departure. And so, he finally acted on the rare gift of counsel from an elf.

'It's not the fire that's wrong, Sam. It's me.'

And suddenly everything he felt about Sam's efforts to heal him came tumbling out of his mouth before his caution regarding Sam's feelings could stop it.

'I know that if fires were what troubled me you would put out every single one in the Shire if you could. And Sam, I love you for that, and for so many other things besides. But you can't always shield me from these memories. Sometimes they just come and I can't stop them, there's no reason other than that I'm not healed. And I'm sorry to let you down, but I don't think I'm going to be, at least not here. I am doing my best Sam, I really am trying for you, but it's not enough. I can't make the Shire home again like it was. I'm not the hobbit who picked blackberries with you just three years ago. I'm so sorry to disappoint you.'

Sam listened with horror as he realised what had been going through Frodo's mind, suddenly making sense of so many occurrences over the past year. Times when his master's obvious discomfort remained a long time after one of his absent moments, which Frodo refused to explain but insisted were nothing to do with memories of Mordor. Then he took both Frodo's hands in his and spoke, unaware that his words were very similar to those spoken by a Dwarf in Fangorn a year and a half before.

'Oh Mr Frodo, I could never be disappointed in you! I don't know how you'd think that, and I'm sorry I let you think it and didn't notice. Of course I'm disappointed _for_ you, of course I wanted you to be able to come back and feel at home and I'm awful sad that hasn't happened. But that's not the same as being disappointed _in_ you. That's something I'll never feel. Never have and never will.'

'But-' Frodo's brow creased in confusion. 'How could you not be disappointed? You try so hard to make it home for me. And then I go and fail you by doing _that._ ' He gestured towards the spot where he had fallen in front of the fire and looked down at it, avoiding Sam's gaze and breathing heavily.

It was almost unbearable to see his master thus, locked in his pain and refusing to see Sam's labours of love as anything other than proof of his own unworthiness. Desperate to make him see the truth, Sam ventured something he would usually consider far too bold an action towards his master. He reached for Frodo's chin and gently but firmly lifted his head so they were face to face. Frodo's eyes remained downcast.

'Please, Mr Frodo, look at me.' Instinctively Sam knew that Frodo had to be convinced that everything he was saying was completely genuine and not just platitudes to soothe him. He hoped that his master would see the honesty in his eyes. Reluctantly Frodo raised eyes full of sorrow and shame to meet his, and Sam wished he could communicate mind to mind like the High Elves, so Frodo would have no reason to doubt the comfort he gave. He hoped, as it was, that this would be enough.

'None of this is your fault. You didn't ask for any of this-' Sam had to pause to swallow back the tide of anger that welled in him when he thought of what destiny had thrust upon his kind and gentle master and saw how that master continued to suffer from the fate he had never sought out.

'You didn't ask for any of this, but you took the burden all those lordly folks wouldn't touch and you carried it all that way and you never complained about why it had to be you. Mr Frodo, after all that, how could I be disappointed, you silly hobbit? I am _proud_ of you, proud to serve you and I always will be. It's like you said. Sometimes the memories come and you don't have a choice and I know that. And I've been trying to help you remember what's best about the Shire because I want peace for you, that's all. When it doesn't work, I know it's not for want of trying on your part. And if it's not going to work-'

And then Sam squared his shoulders, his posture of physical readiness preparing him for the emotional exertion his next words would cost him. For so long his optimism had been unshakeable: plain hobbit-sense and the comforts of the Shire would surely accomplish for his master what the Wise thought impossible. But now it seemed that the Wise had been right that not all Frodo's wounds would heal in Middle Earth, and for his master's sake he had to admit it. One look at Frodo's stricken expression gave him all the resolve he needed.

'then I still want peace for you. Wherever you need to go to find it. And whether or not I can come with you.'

Frodo stared into Sam's expressive eyes, now beginning to glisten with tears, and saw in them a love which shattered all his defences, a love which he had known before was capable of anything, save perhaps letting him go. Now seeing in his friend's determined expression that he was truly willing to face even this last and greatest challenge for his sake, Frodo was overcome. He could not comprehend how or why this loyalty had been bestowed on him, and said so, unknowingly echoing the one who had first suggested to him that this conversation might be an important one.

'I do not deserve you, Samwise Gamgee.'

'Well that's poppycock and no mistake!' The extent of Sam's indignation as he made this pronouncement was enough to startle Frodo into a tearful laugh, and soon Sam was perched precariously on the arm of Frodo's chair, and they were holding on to each other with everything they had.

'Begging your pardon, Mr Frodo,' Sam said at last, slipping down from the arm of the chair with a thud, 'but it don't feel right to talk about deserving, not between the two of us. It won't do to go trying to chalk up who's worthy of who. We'll just argue in circles for hours. You've got me, and that's that.'

'And that thought makes me happier than I can say, Sam. Although I hate to see you worried and sad because of me.'

'Well, I'm afraid you might have to get used to that, Mr Frodo. I can't help being upset when you are, just like you can't help remembering sometimes. You haven't been feeling guilty for upsetting me, have you?'

Frodo hung his head and flushed. 'Perhaps a little. How can I not? When you could be whole and happy but instead you're tearing yourself in two because of me.'

'Oh, but Mr Frodo! I _couldn't_ be whole and happy when you're not. And that's not your fault nor mine. It's just how it is, it's best if we both get on with it and you don't trouble yourself about it anymore. Can you do that?'

'I'll try my best,' Frodo replied with a watery smile. Sam beamed back at him.

'I know you will. You always do. And your best is always enough for me.'

And those words gave Frodo peace of a different nature to that he would one day experience in Tol Eressëa. On the surface, nothing had changed. His surroundings still did not bring him the comfort they once had, the glint of the fire still set his nerves on edge, and he knew in his heart that healing for his aching soul lay in a land beyond the Sundering Sea. He had tried his very best to grab hold of the elusive dream that used to be his home, to make it real to himself once more, and he had failed. Nothing had changed, but everything had changed. Now, none of that mattered, his failure and his shame had lost their sting. Because his best was enough for Samwise Gamgee. And that was enough for Frodo.

And somewhere in the wilds between Bree and Rivendell, an Elf sat high in a fir tree, entirely unconcerned by the snow whirling around him, hearing the Song of the trees, the wind and the sea, accepting the dissonance between them and himself yet finding joy in them all the same. As they often had on his road to Rivendell, the thoughts of that Elf turned to the hobbits who had welcomed him with such warm hospitality. He thought of the Ringbearer with whom he had shared the challenges of being in the present moment in a life shattered by the intrusions of other times and places. He wondered if Frodo had finally shared his misplaced guilt and shame with Sam. He wondered if Sam had opened Frodo's eyes to the truths which he himself had been taught in the treetops of Fangorn by a Dwarf. And he wondered if Sam and Frodo felt, as he and Gimli did, that the greatest adventure of both their lives had nothing to do with the Ring.

And everything to do with learning how to love, and to be loved, like this.

THE END


End file.
